


Dutch Reach Around

by beltainefaerie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, M/M, Panic Attack, Reach Around, Sexuality Crisis, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 01:19:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12853641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: A mistaken turn of phrase turns John's world upside down.





	Dutch Reach Around

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to my darling gf whose misspeak one day led to this fic. She inspires a fair number of Sherlock lines in my fics, actually, for which I am eternally grateful.
> 
> Thanks to meridab (janto123) for betaing.

When John opened his eyes, Sherlock was already talking. 

“You should be careful riding to work.” As far as John could tell this was apropos of nothing, but then when did Sherlock need a reason. He might have had half the bloody conversation in his head already.

John blinked up at him groggily. He’d been helping out on a case late into the night and had kipped on the sofa for a few hours. He’d intended to go upstairs to his old room, and had nearly texted Mary as much, so she wouldn’t worry,  before remembering that wherever Mary was she couldn’t give a toss for him. 

God, he was tired if he forgot that mess, even for a moment. He could practically recite her bloody “dear John” letter by heart (and if one more person made a goddamn quip about that he was going to be run in for assault.)

In the end, he hadn’t made it as far as the bed upstairs, falling asleep mid-sentence right where he sat. Must have been nearly 3 by then. 

Sherlock, it seemed, hadn’t slept at all and stood beside the sofa holding out a cup.

John grasped the proffered coffee from Speedy’s and took a sip, marvelling that Sherlock had gotten them breakfast, and realized rather suddenly that he hadn’t replied to Sherlock. He managed a small inquisitive hum.

It was enough. Sherlock elaborated, “The number of injuries and even fatalities caused by motorists opening their doors onto unsuspecting riders is quite high, unless you are in Holland.”

“Holland?”

“They lowered their mortality rates significantly Something about cyclists and the Dutch Reach Around.”

John choked on his coffee, nearly dropping the paper takeaway cup. Color rose to his cheeks as he managed to splutter out, “The what!?”

“Dutch Reach Around, I think.” Sherlock let out a somewhat exasperated sigh, “I didn’t store it all.”’ 

“Obviously,” John muttered. “That _can’t_ be the name of it.”

Sherlock stared at him blankly. “Why not?”

“You know,” John insisted, followed up with a slight wry purse of his lips and quirk of his brow.

“I really don’t,” Sherlock insisted.

“Look, when you forget-”

“Delete.”

“Fine. Whatever. When you _delete_ the solar system, I can help you out. When you needed to test your hypothesis about the llamas I was right there to help. But this one? You can manage it on your own, thank you very much. You have Google. Use it.” There was no way he was explaining a reach around to Sherlock. In fact he probably shouldn’t even think about Sherlock and reach around in the same sentence. John drained the last of his coffee and threw the cup in the bin, hoping the heat he felt rising to his cheeks would be attributed to rapidly consuming a hot beverage.  “And now, I’ve got to get home if I’m going to change in time for my shift. Text me if anything comes up, yeah?”

Sherlock hummed his assent and went back to studying the epithelial cells under his microscope.

As John’s back was turned, Sherlock looked up, surreptitiously watching him go. He needed to come home. Living in that empty house wasn’t doing him any good. At least, Sherlock would suggest that John keep some clothing here for days like this. 

\---

`“Dutch reach,” John said a few days later, shrugging out of his jacket and wandering into the kitchen without any proper greeting. “It does look useful, though I can’t do it if I’m the cyclist. In all fairness to you, Googling ‘Dutch Reach Around’ gets you the same articles, so you can’t be the only one.”

Sherlock glanced up from his laptop and promptly shut it. He couldn’t hold John’s gaze, glancing away furtively, not able to keep his eyes on his face for more than a moment at a time. He tried to cover it by peering into the petri dish and jotting a few notes. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “And in fairness to you, I found out what you meant as well. That...wouldn’t be the name, clearly. I didn’t... I wasn’t aware that there was a term. For that. I just thought it was,” Sherlock paused a moment as if searching for the word, then added, “Polite.”

If Sherlock had sprouted a second head or a literal third eye, it would have elicited the same look that John shot him now. “Polite?” he managed to choke out.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not always selfish. There are some areas where I’ve been reliably told I’m positively generous.“ Sherlock smirked.

“We are not having this conversation.”

Sherlock’s embarrassment seemed to fade into a sort of bravado and he pushed on, “Why not? Isn’t that what people do with their best mates. Talk about sex?”

“Sometimes,” John hedged, trying to find a way to simultaneously deal with the blood travelling south at the image of Sherlock giving someone a reach around, and to force the lid back on the bloody ridiculous box of emotions those few words had opened up. 

John ran his fingers through his hair. They didn’t talk about sex. Never had. _Christ_ , John didn’t even know Sherlock _did_ that.  And somehow the information that he did just made everything in John’s brain go all fuzzy and for one horrible moment he wasn’t entirely certain he could avoid the humiliation of fainting. Him. A soldier. Fainting.

All these years wondering if Sherlock had ever… if he felt things that way. _Christ._

Gay. Sherlock was actually gay. Well, at least he’d had sex that involved a reach around. Sex with a man. Gay sex. Which didn’t necessarily mean he _was_ gay. There had been that one time in the army. Didn’t count, right? No women around back then and men had needs. Happened all the time in the army and prisons and...

The unexpected confirmation after all these years ripped open everything he’d bottled up. John was increasingly aware that he’d been sitting with his mouth slightly agape, saying nothing for far too long, but what could he possibly say? He suddenly wanted to run off somewhere, though he wasn’t sure he could stand. The room was too small and his clothes were too tight and...

“John?” Sherlock looked him over him with obvious concern.

Hyperventilating. He was hyperventilating. John closed his eyes and willed himself to breathe in… and out. Slow and steady. “Sorry. I’ve got to-” He started to get up.

Sherlock stood and wrapped him in his arms. “No. You’re here. Stay. When you’ve calmed down I need to know what just happened. I don’t want to deduce it. You hate it when I deduce you. I want you to tell me. And then I can avoid doing whatever it was again. I’m sorry. I… just breathe, John. It’s just us, we’re at Baker Street. You’re all right.”

John sucked in gulps of air like he was drowning for it. “Sorry,” he managed after a few breaths. “I’m not sure what…”

Sherlock sat down in one of the chairs, pulling John down with him. 

For a moment John felt like he was going to go off the rails again sitting on Sherlock’s lap like that, but it was warm and safe and Sherlock’s hand at the back of his neck was grounding somehow.

“Your breathing and heartrate are returning to normal. Still a little fast, but tolerable.”

John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock.

“Pupils are still dilated as well,” Sherlock noted, still with mild concern.

John wanted to laugh that the symptoms of arousal and wild panic were the same, but in this case it made more sense than he’d like. And then he couldn’t contain it any longer, laughter bubbling up that was near hysterical, because who has a panic attack from that? Christ, what was wrong with him? And now he was sitting on his friend’s lap like a child. God, this was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. 

Sherlock looked wary at the outburst, already at sea with most emotional reactions. “Did I do it wrong?”

“Not laughing at you, Sherlock,” John choked out, the fit tapering off at last. “I’m just… too old for this.”

“Sitting on my lap? Yes, quite. Sorry. I just, well, it seemed like it would help.” His voice took on a defensive edge, “It did help, actually.”

John made no move to get up, just turned to look at Sherlock. “Yeah, it actually seems to have done, you git. Most observant man in the world and you can’t see this. I’m too old to be having a goddamn sexuality crisis.”

Sherlock blinked rapidly in that way he did when his brain had effectively gone offline and needed a reboot. 

_Christ, they were going to do each other in today._

“Married to your work, yeah? You don’t feel things that way? That’s what I thought. But you’ve had sex. And you wouldn’t be talking about it like this if you hadn’t and enjoyed it, right? Are you... was that, flirting?

Sherlock looked away. “Did you want it to be?”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“I don’t know. Maybe?” Sherlock winced at having to utter those words and corrected himself, “Yes, I think I was. Maybe I just wanted to see your reaction and I’m sorry to have caused...that. But if you’d reacted favorably, I wouldn’t have been averse to… a demonstration.”

John let out a bark of a laugh. “Of a reach around?”

“Yes.”

John licked his lips. “How about we start with just this,“ and he leaned in to kiss Sherlock gently. Sherlock leant into it and parted his lips just slightly, inviting more. John pulled back and smiled. “Yeah, I think I should have done that ages ago. All right?”

“Perfectly all right. More than all right. Again, please.”

They giggled and kissed. John turned to straddle Sherlock and soon the chair was creaking with the way they shifted against one another seeking friction. 

“Bedroom?” Sherlock asked, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes dark with desire. 

”God, yes, Sherlock.” 

If you had asked John Watson earlier, he might have thought he would balk. Moments ago he was having a full blown panic attack for God’s sakes, but whatever that was, he’d worked through it. There was no hesitation, no regrets or second guessing.  He was beyond sure that he had loved this gorgeous infuriating man since that first night. He just hadn’t sorted it right. This had always been more than friendship and now, it was ok to say so, to feel these things. To do these things, even. 

They got up and Sherlock led the way, stripping off as they went. 

In the bedroom, Sherlock fumbled for a moment in the drawer of the bedside table, coming up with a bottle of slick and a condom, before getting on hands and knees on the bed. “I believe this is the appropriate position for the aforementioned demonstration,” he said, peering over his shoulder. Cheeky.

“One of them, yeah,” John said, breathing a sigh of relief that their banter was as easy as ever, like nothing had changed. He climbed up in the bed behind Sherlock. He took a deep breath. “Christ. We’re really…”

Sherlock turned serious. He was blasé about many things, but not this. “Only if you’re sure.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sure,” then added in an undertone, “Be a fool not to.” Looking at Sherlock spread out in front of him, John’s cock throbbed. 

He ran one hand over Sherlock’s back and arse before popping the cap on the bottle and slicking his fingers, beginning to work Sherlock open. 

Sherlock hissed in a breath at the initial intrusion. 

“All right?” John asked, pausing to let Sherlock relax.

“Been a while,” Sherlock gritted out. 

“That’s not an answer,” John said with a gentle swat at Sherlock’s arse

“I’m all right. I want this. Just need to adjust.”

“Relax.” John said, rubbing little circles with the thumb of his free hand at the base of Sherlock’s spine. 

Sherlock let out a breathy moan and after a moment, the tension drained out of him. Sherlock took a steadying breath commanding, “More.”

John was only too happy to oblige. 

With a groan of pleasure, Sherlock’s head and shoulders sank down to the mattress and he pushed back against John. 

Sherlock was practically sobbing with desperation. “John. I nee---”

John felt how pliant Sherlock was becoming under his hands, slick and relaxed and open. He withdrew his fingers, and his cock throbbed again as Sherlock moaned plaintively at the loss. John rolled a condom on, added more slick, and lined up. He pushed in slowly, swearing softly as the head breached Sherlock for the first time.

The way Sherlock called his name in that moment, the single syllable drawn out, was the most beautiful thing John had ever heard.

“Christ, Sherlock.” John rolled his hips and pressed in further, Sherlock shuddering beneath him. He pulled back and sunk even deeper again and again, until he was fully seated. He paused to let Sherlock adjust and caressed his back, arse, and thighs, before holding his hips and beginning to really move. 

Sherlock gasped and moaned beneath him, muttering snatches of words that John wasn’t even sure were in English. He had never seen Sherlock this incoherent or this utterly, breathtakingly beautiful.

John shifted slightly, a different kant of his hips that had Sherlock’s fingers scrabbling at the sheets. 

“Like that, do you?”

The way Sherlock moaned and pushed back against him was answer enough, though later Sherlock said he had actually seen stars. 

John picked up his pace and leant forward to brace one hand on the mattress so he could finally reached around to take Sherlock in hand.

John marveled at the feel of him, the softness of the skin, the weight in his palm. Sherlock was achingly hard and leaking enough to ease John’s way as he stroked his hand up and down Sherlock’s length. 

Sherlock’s exhalations became ragged, panting groans that were nearly unbearably erotic. John was hardly going to last at this rate, but that didn’t matter. Nothing did aside from the pleasure they could bring each other.

He worked his hand faster, at first in time with his thrusts, but the rhythm grew more erratic the closer he came to his own climax. 

Sherlock tensed beneath him, then shuddered and cried out, spilling over John’s hand. His body clenched and released around John’s cock, so tight John wondered how something that close to painful could feel so damn good.

John pushed in one last time, calling Sherlock’s name as the waves of pleasure crashed through him. He kissed Sherlock’s shoulder and held him close for a moment before pulling out. 

He wouldn’t have taken Sherlock for a cuddler, but curling up together felt right. They were hot and sticky, and God, did they need a shower, but John couldn’t be arsed to move. A warm glow filled his chest and he couldn’t remember having ever been happier.

“Come home,” Sherlock said, intending to ask, but commanding instead.

John smiled. “I already have.”

Sherlock gave him a look that was hard to place. Half fondness, half irritation. Rather like the look he wore when he discovered whatever John had titled the latest blog. “That’s a terrible line.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t true,“ John smirked and kissed him. “I’ll start moving my things back in tomorrow. Is that better?”

Sherlock hummed assent and held John tighter.


End file.
